


Pain and Pleasure

by WinterWolfWitch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Sexual Content, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterWolfWitch/pseuds/WinterWolfWitch
Summary: Inquisitor Cadash lets her thoughts stray back to her old life in the Carta.Fic fill for a smut-prompt on Discord.
Kudos: 1





	Pain and Pleasure

“Most people don’t realise just how _thin_ the line between pain and pleasure really is.” 

Her words seemed to echo back to her, a whispered chorus bouncing off the dark stone walls around them and adding a layer of mystique. For a while after, the sound of her boot-heels clicking on the stone floor was the only other sound as she circled the hunched-over figure tied to the chair before her. By now, the poison would have made its way through his system, each pulse of his heart pushing it through his veins further. 

At first, the feeling would be quite pleasant: warmth spreading from the stomach like the afterglow of a fine glass of whisky. Or a small sip of Carnal 8:69 Blessed, which is where she got the idea for this particular mixture in the first place. The Carnal was a highly sought-after and prohibitively expensive extravagance, wildly popular in Orlais and coveted as much for the pornographic carving of the peach pit that lay within as for its rumoured effect. Of course she knew that it wasn’t _all_ rumour. If ingested in tiny quantities, like the amount inside the tiny seed that lay within the stone, one would experience nothing more than a light feeling of euphoria, a heightening of the senses that the amber liquid owed its reputation to. A pleasant rush of heat to the sensitive parts of the body that was enough to add just that little extra to the lovemaking. She also knew more than half of what was out there was fake. 

Of course, if one was to carefully crush a rather large amount of these seeds and extract the poison that lay within directly, it quickly became a wholly different scenario altogether. 

On her next circle, she lightly traced her nails over the back of his exposed neck and watched him shudder, smirking at his inability to maintain the stoic facade he’d been holding up so far. 

Stage two. 

Extreme skin-sensitivity came next and combined with the blindfold, his remaining senses would be heightened to their utmost limits. Many would detest her for the work she did, but the truth of the matter was: she was good at it. She had _finesse_ , where others would quickly result to violence. Ultimately she was able to extract information with twice the efficiency and she took no pleasure in the pain she caused, which was a lot more than could be said for most of the henchmen her father employed. 

As her father’s most valued negotiator, she also exercised the right to refuse assignments on principle. At least the idea that someone could be innocent had long since evaporated by the time she was asked to step in. The Carta simply wasn’t interested in low-life criminals, especially not for information extraction at this level. Another turn. She dragged her nails across his upper thigh this time, digging in to counteract the thick leather of his breeches. His jaw clenched, but he gave no other outward sign. She grinned, he’d clearly been expecting something this time, but she had only just begun. 

“Tell me who hired you,” she whispered in his ear, low and menacing. 

The skin on the back of his neck pebbled as her breath touched his ear. More stubborn resistance, but she had expected nothing less. Extortion, robbery, racketeering, assault, theft; the list went on and on and was no doubt missing a number of things he’d managed to get away with. Only this time he’d stolen from the wrong people. No one with half a brain stole from the Carta and most certainly not anything that belonged to Cadash. Not unless they had a deathwish, or were paid so well that the risk might seem worth it. 

His breathing was starting to grow more rapid now, no doubt his blood felt like it was on fire. The first beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, despite the chill in the dark chamber. Stage three. 

Turning to the wall behind her, she tapped her teeth thoughtfully and after a moment’s consideration, picked up a leather whip. Bending the leather so it creaked, she cracked it once experimentally. He did flinch that time; apparently he wasn’t quite as unperturbed as he’d have her believe. 

It was time to give him some motivation before the poison took him out of her reach. _At least he’s pretty_ , she mused. That in itself was a rarity. Down here, in the bowels of Ostwick, the pretty ones rarely stayed that way for long. She trailed the ends of the whip over his exposed underarms, first the left, then a slow trail across his lap and over the other side. His wrists were bound together in front of him, his ankles shackled together with heavy manacles, but it would take no more than a breath for him to lunge at her. It had been a calculated risk, because she couldn’t have him tied to the chair for what came next. Even if he did manage to take her by surprise, the men outside the door would cut him down before he’d taken two steps, but she was not going to let it get that far. Her eyes followed the whip ends as she trailed it back, admiring the impressive bulge of his muscles. His arms looked like he was used to working with them, his biceps straining under the thin cotton of his shirt, but then perhaps highway robbery was more hard work than she imagined. Nice shoulders too, wide and solid, just the way she liked them. His eyes were a steely blue, she knew, she’d gotten a good look at them just before she put the blindfold on. She circled to his back, dragging the whip with her until it trailed up his left shoulder. 

Lightning-quick, she grabbed the bottom-end and pulled the cords taut against his throat, throttling him until he gasped for air. His strength far outmatched hers and he could easily pull her down if she got too close, so she braced herself against the back of the chair with one foot, leaning back to let her weight do the work. When his struggles became frantic, threatening to upend the chair, she let go and watched him cough and gulp for air. 

“Who sent you!” She cracked the whip, close enough so he had to feel the wind of it. 

Still trying to catch his breath, he shook his head. 

“No one,” he croaked. His black hair was sweat-drenched now and from the amount of squirming she was seeing, it had to feel like he was being roasted from the inside out. 

Stage four. 

Quickly walking to the far end of the room, she briskly turned the wooden wheel that operated the pulley system and watched the rope attached to his wrist snap taut. Due to a clever system of cogs and wheels, he was yanked out of his chair and hoisted up until his feet barely touched the floor with no more effort than it had taken her to put on her thigh-high boots. His arms were stretched high over his head and he grunted as his shoulders took the brunt of his weight. Enjoying the now unobstructed view of his well-defined arse, she watched his head fall back as he took in deep breaths through his nose. Under normal circumstances, this would all be rather tame, but combined with a “Roxy special”, he would be oscillating between pain and pleasure until the lines between them all but disintegrated. She knew this from her own personal experiments, as she had carefully and gradually tested with various doses and ingredients to get the best possible effect. His heart was beating so loud, she could see it thump in his chest under his sweat-soaked shirt. 

Hopefully he didn’t have a weak heart, or this could all be over a lot sooner than she had planned and that would definitely be a damn waste of a fine piece of dwarven arse. As if giving voice to her thoughts, she slapped him across the rump with the flat or her hand, relishing the satisfying “smack” it made against his buttocks. His hips jerked and a loud moan fell from his lips. From the look of the front, the rush had definitely reached the outer extremities. She wondered if any of the rumours were true, apparently he had quite the reputation for swindling unsuspecting victims out of their virtue and sovereigns alike through some shameless acts of seduction. Observing how well-kept he looked, she could well imagine it. His fingernails were clean, his beard well-trimmed and his hair had looked freshly cut, before sweat had made a mess of it. 

“Last chance, tell me who paid you to steal the journal!”

Before he had a chance to reply, she flicked her wrist, lashing the whip across his back. He let out a most undignified squeal, mostly from surprise, but she knew the pain had to be increased to a degree where it felt he had received a dozen lashes, instead of just one. 

Pain and pleasure, two sides to the same coin. It was time for a flip. Standing so close she could count the individual hairs in his beard, she curled her fingers into the collar of his shirt and yanked hard. Luckily the fabric was as flimsy as it looked and it ripped all the way down the front without too much trouble. The carpet matched the beard. _Nice._

Not being able to resist, she slid her fingers across his chest, enjoying the feel of his thick chest hair under her fingers. She’d always had a thing for it and there had to be some perks to the job. He shuddered and she continued her exploration, first across, then slowly down, tracing a nail just on the inside of the top of his breeches. She could virtually feel the heat rolling off him as he jerked under her touch. 

“Stop,” he croaked, his voice thick. She knew full well how agonisingly sweet it was to endure such a touch when it felt your skin would break under the touch of a feather. The first time she’d tried a dose of any significance, the friction of her breast binding dragging across her nipples had given her such a powerful orgasm, she’d knocked over the nightstand. Fortunately she’d learned early on to conduct any such experiments in private. 

“Ready to talk?” She slowly inched her hands a little further down his breeches, her lips brushing his earlobe as she spoke. 

Maybe, if he told her what she needed to know, she would let him fuck her. _Before_ he realised the dose she’d given him was non-lethal preferably, he might make it count if he thought it was his last. 

Just as her body was telling her it quite liked the sound of that, her prisoner made a strangled sound, followed by a series of jerks that could only mean one thing. 

A quick look down at the front of his breeches confirmed what she already knew: he had peaked a little early. Wrinkling her nose, she pushed away from him, even as he rode the last waves of his ecstasy. 

“I knew those rumours were a load of bollocks. Stamina, my arse.” 

Even through his humiliation, he still managed to give her a weary smirk. 

“Give me five minutes,” he retorted. 

Flicking out her dagger from a sheath in her sleeve with a quick gesture, she pressed the tip against his balls, just hard enough to get her point and impatience across. He had definitely put her in the mood, damn it all, but he certainly wasn’t going to be any help in that area now, not in this state. 

“What I’ll give you, is your balls, on a plate, if you don’t tell me where the journal is and who fekkin’ sent you!!!” 

*****

“Are you alright? You seem very far away.” Starting from her reverie, Roxana smiled, straightening her leather gloves to hide the warm flush that was creeping up her cheeks and a few other places. 

“Don’t mind me. I was just thinking about the last time I had peaches.” 

**************


End file.
